“Don’t you think I don’t understand, honey,” she said, “and don’t you mind. You just cry till you get through, then you wipe up your eyes and pick out what it is that you want to take with you that the law will let you have. I been thinkin’ for you in these days when you haven’t had the time to think for yourself. I’ve had Jimmy Price and his wife clean the stuff out of my house and haul it over to my sister’s in Bluffport. She’s got plenty of room to pack it away. Talkin’ with Jason Peters when he brought in the groceries, I’ve found out that Peter Potter will let him use his delivery wagon to move things for us. Mrs. Price and Jimmy have got the house all clean, and while it’s nothing to compare with here, it’s shelter till you can look around and see what you can do. Fast as you make up enough bundles for a wagonload, Jason will stop and haul ’em over for you free and for nothing.”
Mahala sat up and wiped her eyes.
“Jemima,” she said, “only a week ago I thought I was possessed of what’s commonly spoken of as a ‘host of friends.’ To-day that host has dwindled to you, Albert Rich, Peter Potter, Jason Peters, and possibly Susanna Bowers. Do you realize that Edith Williams has not been here since the day after Papa went? Mrs. Williams hasn’t been but once, and since that writ of attachment is nailed on our front door, you’d think that it read ‘Leprosy’ instead of anything connected merely with dollars and cents.”
“Never mind, honey,” said Jemima. “Put this in your pipe and smoke it. Fair-weather friends ain’t no good anyway. Them as sticks when the storm comes is the only ones that’s worth having. Now you go pick out the things you want Jason to move. I’m goin’ to stay right with you and take care of your Ma and cook for you, and you needn’t bother about payin’ me anything. I’ve been paid too much already. I bought my place with money I earned here. Whatever you do, you’ve got to do with your fingers. It’s all you know. You write out the kind of a sign you want to use and I’ll have Jason paint it like he paints them nice, stylish signs he sticks up fresh every day in Peter Potter’s windows. He’s real expert at it. He’ll fix you a nice one and trim it up fancy, and he’ll put it in the front yard, and then you’ll soon find out whether there’s goin’ to be anything in this town you can do that will furnish us bread and maybe a slatherin’ of butter once in a while.”
Mahala arose, wiped her eyes, and for the first time in her life, she used her hands at work that was essential and not for the beautification of her person or her home. With Jemima’s help she tried conscientiously to make a selection of what would be a fair six hundred dollars’ worth of the things that would be essential in the furnishing of Jemima’s little house that she had rented since her husband’s death and her only son had married and moved to Chicago. Whenever Jason delivered a load of groceries, he drove a few blocks out of his way, and stopping at the Spellman residence, carefully swept out the wagon, spread newspapers over the bottom, and piled in as much furniture and household goods as the horse could draw comfortably, and moved them to Jemima’s house.
Peter Potter had suggested that he should do this.
Coming in after the delivery of a load, Jason said to Peter: “Those women are being too honest. They’re not taking enough to make them comfortable. It’s a crime!”
“It’s worse than a crime,” said Peter. “It’s an outrage. I’ll tell you what let’s do. Let’s take this matter into our own hands. Let’s fix up a plan between us and the night the folks move out, let’s go and get what’s right and fair they should have. We can store it in the upstairs here, or in your room, till they get to the place where they’ve a bigger house and use for it again.”
That plan Jason endorsed with enthusiasm. The evening of a hard day, Jemima hitched up the Spellman horse and she and Mahala helped Elizabeth into the surrey and drove her to her new home, and then gave the keys to Jason. He was to return the horse and in the morning turn over the property to the sheriff. That night was the busiest in the life of Jason and Peter. The tongue of the exhausted delivery horse was almost hanging from its mouth. There were narrow streaks of red in the east when the conspirators sneaked into the alley behind the grocery with the last load that they felt they dared take. Jason spent the day carrying these things to the rooms which Peter Potter had made for him over the grocery.
When the returns from the public auction of the Spellman furnishings were brought to the Moreland bank, Martin Moreland was dumbfounded that they should have been so small. He talked about going to the new Spellman home and taking an inventory of what had been kept, but when he mentioned it at home, Mrs. Moreland said quietly: “Martin, for your own sake and for the boy’s sake, don’t push that matter any further. There’s a reaction against the Spellmans right now because people can begin to see what big fools they were to do such a lot of things they couldn’t afford, but there’s never a wave breaks on the shore but some of the water runs back to the sea. There’s going to be a considerable backwash in this affair. From what I can see and hear, Mahala’s holding up her head and going at this thing so bravely, that by and by there’s bound to be a reaction. If you press things too hard and cut too close, it’ll be worse for you, for the boy, and for me, too, in the long run. Besides that, from the list of property you’ve attached that I read in the papers, it looks to me like you’ve got about three times what you should have had anyway.”